


Our Road is Long (Your Hold is Strong)

by lit_chick08



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-episode fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's self-control has a breaking point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Road is Long (Your Hold is Strong)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers from 3x10 "The New Deal"

It takes three breaths for Elena to recognize two things. The first is that Damon Salvatore has just kissed her in a way which has turned her stomach inside out. The second is that he's _walking away_.

“Damon!”

He stops on the walkway, apprehension flickering over his handsome face as she approaches, and Elena wonders if he thinks she is going to slap him or accuse him of something. She sees the realization hit him that it is not her intent only a moment before her arms around his neck and she is mauling his mouth with a desperate hunger. Damon opens his mouth, a moan slipping free, and Elena joins it with one of her own, pressing herself against his chest as her tongue pushes into his mouth. His hands find her ass, squeezing lightly, and Elena hops up, her legs naturally finding a perch around his waist; she can feel him hard between her thighs and bucks her hips, needing friction.

“Elena,” Damon manages as her lips slide beneath his jaw, and Elena is dimly aware they are stumbling backwards, Damon's back now resting against his car. She draws blunt teeth down his throat and the rumbling response in his chest raises her temperature immediately.

“We should stop,” he tries again, and Elena ignores him, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, her hands finding soft, cool skin. When she moves to lower her mouth to his chest, Damon catches her face with one hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown, little blue left, and Elena tries to rear forward to take his mouth again only for Damon to hold her steadfast.

“A lot has happened tonight, Elena. Don't do anything you'll want to take back in the morning.”

Elena leans forward, drawing the tip of her tongue across the fullness of Damon's bottom lip, nipping at the corner of his mouth; she feels the bite of his fingers in the soft flesh of her ass, but otherwise he gives her no indication she is stirring him. She rests her forehead against the side of his face before whispering against his ear, “If I'm going to feel guilty for anything, it's going to be this.”

All the air rushes from her lungs at the force with which her back meets the side of the car, Damon's mouth rough and relentless as his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt, palming her breasts. Elena cries out as he fishes her nipple from the small cup of her bra, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and it vaguely occurs to her they shouldn't be doing this outside her house on the street on a Sunday night; old Mrs. MacWilliams is probably getting the biggest thrill of her life right now, peeping from behind the ugly curtains which have hung in her windows since Elena was born.

“Not here,” she grits out as Damon begins to work the zipper of her pants down, and he nods like he understands and intends to take her somewhere. But then the passenger's door opens and Elena finds herself straddling Damon's lap as he smoothly pushes her jeans and underwear down to her knees. His fingers press into where she is hot and dripping, and Elena cants her hips to ask for more, no longer caring if Damon wants to fuck her in the town square as long as he just fucks her.

She'll be embarrassed in the morning over how wanton she is acting; right now, she needs this to keep happening.

Elena jerks her shirt up, shedding it impatiently, and Damon immediately latches onto her breast, his teeth worrying her nipple while his thumb begins to circle her clit; it sets her off almost immediately, her breathing and shouting sounding uncomfortably loud in the confined space of the car, but Damon laughs at the string of vulgarities falling from her lips.

“You're fucking gorgeous,” he breathes as she trembles through her orgasm; Elena can feel his fingers, sticky with her release, resting against her bare thigh, and it _should_ make her blush but it doesn't.

Blushing is for the morning.

Her fingers feel numb as she opens his pants, finding his cock and taking it out as if this is something she has done a hundred times before, as if it is not strange that she is straddling a Salvatore and it is not Stefan. Damon pushes up into her grasp, sucking air in sharply through his nose, and, when she stills, he opens his eyes; Elena trembles from the amount of naked vulnerability in his gaze, and it occurs to her she is holding him in the palm of her hand in more ways than one.

Elena refuses to look away as she slowly slides down upon him, biting her lip to keep from shouting at the pleasure of her body stretching to accommodate him; Damon lifts his hands, cupping her face, and suddenly the desperation between them has transformed into something tender, almost dreamy. Damon's lips are gentle, his kisses downright chaste as their hips roll in soft waves, ebbing and flowing in a rhythm as old as time. Elena rests her hands on the seat behind Damon's back, squeezing the material for traction, and, when the kiss breaks, she rests her forehead against Damon's as they keep the same lazy rhythm. She feels fuller than she has in such a long time, and it has little to do with how deep Damon is inside of her.

“I would do anything for you,” Damon confesses as if Elena has not known this for months, has not found herself losing sleep over it. “I've never loved anyone the way I love you.”

She wishes she could say the same, that she could declare her love and have it ring absolutely true, but Elena knows this is not the moment. She loves Damon, may even be _in_ love with Damon, but putting it into words is not just going to change everything; it will blow it apart.

Elena wonders what it says about the relationship she has with Damon that sex is less intimate than naming her feelings.

Instead she brushes kisses against his eyes, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the point of his chin; finally she implores, “Please don't love me too much. It only gets people killed.”

Damon rears up, pulling her more firmly against him; Elena gasps at the sharp change of angle, her eyes fluttering shut. She almost misses Damon's declaration of, “I'm already dead, remember?” over the rushing of blood in her ears.

He begins to urge her to move, and Elena complies, snapping her hips, her own hands finding their way to her breasts as Damon settles one hand on her ass and the other on her clit. There is no sense of time in Damon's car; Elena is not sure if it has been a minute or an hour when her second orgasm hits her, her muscles clutching tightly around Damon to send him over the edge. She catches the hint of red in his eyes, the slight growth of veins, but it is gone as quickly as it came, and Damon is breathing compliments and some of the foulest words Elena has ever heard against her breastbone.

Damon sits back against the seat, his energy sapped, and Elena curls herself around him, dropping her head into the crook of his shoulder. Elena can feel the sweat drying on her skin, her release and Damon's wetting her thighs as he slipped from inside her, and there is something about still being half-clothed in the front seat of Damon's car which makes Elena feel like a teenager for the first time since her parents died.

“I never imagined it would be like this,” Elena says after a moment.

Damon is quiet for an indeterminably long time before venturing, “I know that, if Klaus had never forced Stefan - “

“No,” she interrupts, “I mean...I just always figured it would happen in your room or _my_ room or....Some place _not_ public.”

“Oh.” As if on cue, Mr. Fogerty and his golden retriever pass by the car, and Elena buries her face deeper into Damon's shoulder. He strokes the smooth skin of her back for a minute, and Elena knows she is not going to be able to look any of her neighbors in the eye for, at least, a month.

“But this makes more sense in a way, I guess.” She pulls back, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. “No regrets.”

“No regrets,” he echoes, his mouth meeting hers for one last, long kiss.

The next morning, when Elena comes down the stairs to find Damon and Alaric in the kitchen, she can feel how hot her cheeks get; Damon smiles in a way which would have seemed shy on anyone else, and Elena prays Alaric cannot sense something is different. She is not sure how she makes it through an ordinary conversation about Jeremy's travel arrangements, and, when Alaric heads upstairs to go wake up Jeremy, Elena finds herself studiously avoiding Damon's gaze.

“Should I go?” Damon asks.

Finally lifting her eyes, Elena shakes her head. “No, you...you belong here. You're a part of our typical atypical family.”

“Am I the drunk uncle?”

“Only if you want to fight Ric for it.” Smiling at Damon's easy grin, Elena rounds the island, coming to stand before him. She sets her hand over his heart, feeling a rhythm as steady as her own from the borrowed blood in his veins, and suggests, “We'll figure out who you are.”

Damon's kiss is whisper soft. “Okay.”


End file.
